


what isn't air

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Pre-Canon, little Rey, yes of course Dad is Luke Skywalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 19:32:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5510339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s not even three when Mama takes her away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what isn't air

She’s not even three when Mama takes her away.

She remembers that. The darkness. Dad’s voice, only his voice, only ever his voice in her memories. Tired. Resigned. Mama’s voice isn’t much better. She clutches to Mama’s shoulder, burying her face and trying to reach out through what isn’t air to get comfort from them there.

They’re there, but the weariness radiates off of both of them in the non-space as well. She starts to cry.

Mama takes her off into cramped spaces, noisy spaces, sharp places where she clutches to Mama’s leg and hides her face from strangers. They cluck at her and call her shy, call her lovely, but she can always feel the insincerity--they want something. Always. Sometimes what they want is her, and it’s then that she can feel Mama take in a deep breath of what isn’t air and direct their attention elsewhere.

Sometimes Mama comes back deep into what should be her sleep cycle, creeping quietly into the cramped quarters with her boots in one hand, the smell of burning on her. 

Those are the scary times.

Mama’s voice changes. Higher-pitched than she’s used to hearing and with a clip to her words that wasn’t there before. This is how we talk now, Mama tells her, not breaking out of the new voice. It’s silly, and she laughs, but she listens to Mama and learns the new way of saying words. 

They don’t stay any place for very long. Sometimes she tries to reach out through what isn’t air to find Dad, but all she can ever feel is the radiance of Mama. Gentle chiding. Not here. Not now. Later, Mama promises. 

She grows. Mama laughs at her when her clothes no longer fit and gets her new things to wear that smell like musty old shops and decades of abandonment. She learns. Colors, numbers, letters. She’s quick and clever and Mama puffs up in pride.

She’s five, then, practicing her letters in a large but steady hand when what isn’t air quakes with pain. It scares her and she reaches in the way Mama has told her she mustn’t, touching Mama’s mind. 

Mama’s terrified. Mama’s running, elbowing through corridors on the freighter they’ve managed to get passage on this time, coming to find her. She hides, curling up in a cargo container like Mama has taught her to do when there’s danger, her face buried in her knees as what isn’t air licks all around her with anger.

“It’s time, little bird,” Mama says. “I need you to be a big girl for me.” Mama’s eyes are wide and dark as she grabs the go bag next to the door. “Can you do that?”

She nods. “Yes, Mama.” She reaches into what isn’t air and finds calm, somehow, playing pretend that nothing is different. Mama has trained her for scary times. It’s okay to be angry, but not to stay angry. It’s okay to be scared, but don’t stay scared. 

What follows is a blur that she’ll never quite remember correctly. They bounce from ship to ship, Mama calling her a different name on each. At the end of their journey, they stand together in the sand on a world that’s hot and dry.

Mama’s crying. “I’ll come back for you,” she promises before turning her back. 

Mama doesn’t come back. She cries, she begs, but the ship leaves her behind.

Sometimes, when she’s growing up, working her fingers bloody to procure small bits of salvage that the adults are too big to recover, she still tries to reach out through what isn’t air to touch Mama’s mind. Dad’s mind.

By the time she’s ten, she doesn’t even do that anymore. 


End file.
